Page 3 of One Last Run

Suddenly, Pete was beside her, grabbing around her waist.

That somehow made the entire situation worse. Pete was so close. She was warm, and smelled like coconut and sweet apricot, and her face was so close.

“You good?” Pete asked, her warm breath warming Danica’s cheeks.

No, Danica Wendell was not good. Because somewhere between the car sickness, the intense flailing, and the arm tight around her waist, the nausea floodgates had swung wide open. Her quick reflexes were her only saving grace as she turned to throw up into the planter. Behind her, Kiera made noises of concern and patted her back, Maggie and Izzy groaned in disgust, and Pete laughed her ass off.

“Does anyone have a shovel? I’d like to be hit over the head with it,” Danica said, wiping at her mouth with a tissue Kiera passed to her. She sniffled, mentally noting where in her suitcase she could find her toiletries bag and her toothbrush.

“What about wine-induced amnesia?” Kiera offered, typing into the keypad on the door. It beeped and opened, and Maggie made a weak argument about not knowing she had to press both the asteriskandthe pound sign after putting in the code.

“That sounds terrible, honestly,” Danica said, taking her roller bag from Pete, who had picked it up off the ground for her. She thanked Pete while covering her mouth and scrambled inside to find a bathroom, or any room that had a door with a lock where she could sequester herself for the next thousand years and avoid both her immediate embarrassment and any further run-ins with Pete.

This was going to be a long week, and she’d only just arrived.

CHAPTER 2

PETE

Pete was runningon three hours of sleep, four energy drinks, and five tiny powdered Donettes she’d bought at the gas station. All in all, a pretty good day. That was, until Danica Wendell showed up.

Pete wasn’t big on grudges — she had a poor memory, and usually couldn’t remember why the grudge was being held in the first place. This meant she was typically friends with every ex, but she’d replayed every moment of her and Danica’s time together so much that she remembered each word of that screaming fight out on the quad at 2 a.m. on graduation night.

It was the last time she’d seen Danica, her hair straight and shiny, still in her white lace graduation dress. The last thing Danica had ever said to Pete was an exasperated, “You’re never going to grow up, are you?” That had stung more than any of the horrible other things they’d said to each other that night. That’s why Pete had taken it on as a mantra. Shewasnever going to grow up,thank you very much.

She may not have grown up by Danica’s definition, but she wasn’t the one throwing up in a planter box outside a rich lady’s condo.

She laughed to herself to even picture it now. Danica, so polished, doing something so disgusting that it would haunt her thoughts for years. She knew Danica well enough to know that throwing up in front of her friends was a nightmare scenario. For Pete, it was something that could happen on a casual Friday night after drinking and eating mystery meat from a street vendor.

As they walked into Aunt Jade’s condo — bless Kiera for having a rich aunt — she lagged behind, letting everyone choose their rooms before her. She didn’t care where she slept, since she’d hardly be in there. Her intention was to spend the most time she could on the slopes. She shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge to find it fully stocked with fancy prebiotic sodas and bottled craft beer. “Don’t mind if I do,” she mumbled, cracking open the top of a hazy IPA. Leaning against the counter, she took in the kitchen, which was decked out in marble and crisp white cabinetry. Had anyone ever cooked in this kitchen? She highly doubted it.

“Uh, sorry, Pete, but there’s only one room left and it’s bunk beds,” Izzy called out from the hallway.

“Bunk beds sound fun,” Pete called back to assuage any guilt Izzy felt about taking the last room with a nice bed. She walked around the oversized kitchen island to the living room. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows lined one wall, giving a view of Mountain Village, the tourist lodge area of Telluride. Rustic yet modern buildings, wide open slopes, and the main gondola into the ski resort lined the horizon. Bare aspens and snow-draped conifers spread in every direction from the grounds, except over what appeared to be a tennis court covered in a thick layer of snow.

She was still in her travel uniform, comfortable and familiar. Pete shoved her hands into the pockets of her worn tan chore jacket, the heavy cotton fabric soft from countless washes, its multiple pockets perfect for stashing everything from pens to snacks. She’d left the jacket unbuttoned, revealing the faded logo of a faded band t-shirt underneath. Her jeans were cuffed to show her high-top white Converse sneakers, which were scuffed from months of use but still held a certain timeless charm.

“If this is what being a childless, single woman gets you, I’m getting a divorce and giving back my kids,” Maggie said, walking into the living area to flop onto the couch. Two overstuffed chairs sat near the fireplace, facing a worn-in leather sofa. Maggie still looked as effortlessly cool as always, her collarbone length blonde hair still perfectly coiffed even after she’d taken off her beanie.

“Looks like I’m on the right path, then,” Pete joked, sinking into one of the chairs and turning to look at the stone-slab fireplace. She reached to flip the switch to turn on the gas, and flames rose immediately over the fake logs. A bit cheesy, but warm.

“Did y’all see the hot tub?” Izzy asked, walking into the room to stare out the window. Izzy, unlike Maggie, was still wearing a mustard yellow beanie over her blonde pixie, an oversized fleece pullover hiding most of her tiny frame.

“That’ll be nice for after my snowboarding lessons,” Maggie commented.

“You’re taking snowboarding lessons?” Pete asked, a brow raising. “Haven’t you been skiing since you were like, three?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never snowboarded, and I feel like this is my one chance to try it without worrying about the kids or my wife being there to need something from me.” Maggie said, letting out a deep, long breath.

“How many kids do you have now?” Pete asked.

Maggie smiled in a tired way. “Just the three. Why are you making that face?”

“I’m not making a face.” Pete took a long sip of her beer to try to hide whatever expression was giving her away. She glanced toward where Izzy was opening a bottle of red wine in the kitchen.

“You’re... grimacing.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed.

Pete swallowed, trying to hide her smile. “Well, you saidjust, as in, just three. Or, like, not that many, only three. Which, by all accounts, is a lot of kids.”

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